The Liberation of Kate Pt. 05

When the waitress brought the bill, I pulled out my wallet but Adèle raised a hand to brush it aside. I was wondering how she was prepared to pay because she was not carrying her purse. Indeed, I had seen many women in the shops and eateries without handbags or paying partners. The trick was perfectly and marvellously simple. She lifted the hair under her left ear and the waitress applied a small scanning device. Her ID was a small barcode transfer-tattoo, high enough on the neck so as not to be rubbed off by abrasion with a slave collar.

On returning to the bride bazaar, we stood for some time in silence watching our girls. Kate's hands were now cuffed behind her back (around the post) and her ankles were unfettered, so she had a little more freedom of movement. Every so often for relief, she and the other women shackled this way were permitted to crouch (with knees together) or squat (with legs apart). None was making any sound, and hardly any movement; their eyes were closed and their lips slightly parted, as they drew in and puffed out short, sharp breaths. Kate had been bound to her pillar for around four hours, so her ordeal was only half over. Her hair was drenched, her body dripping perspiration. I felt sorry for her, it must have been a terrible torment, and yet I still envied her. My elation at seeing the love of my life enduring so much to prove herself worthy of being my slave had a weirdly hollow ring to it, and it took the presence of Adèle to enlighten me. My role in Kate's transformation was, after all, a passive one. This was a journey she was taking, an exploration she was making. In truth, I was just along for the ride. It was a marvellous ride, no doubt about that, but Kate was the lucky one.

I sensed that Adèle understood this. She seemed restless. So I touched her shoulder. She flinched but turned to face me. I twisted my head slightly and she got the message, spinning about and putting her hands behind her back. I used the cord with which I had tied Kate's wrists that morning, pulling the knot tighter than I needed to so that Adèle grunted softly and wiggled her elbows, as if testing her bonds. I motioned to the female attendant, who came to fetch her and escort her across the red ribbon barrier. Adèle whispered something; there was a vacant post next to Élise. She was bound to her wooden pillar with her wrists still tied. She rolled her head to the side to stare doe-eyed at her lover. In spite of — no because of — her humiliation and discomfort, I was jealous that she could share in her slavegirl's experience in a way that I could not with mine.

When they were released after sunset, I was proud that Kate was able to stand up better than the two girls who had spent just half the amount of time bound to their poles. The attendants applied some recuperative therapy, and after about fifteen minutes I was able to get all three of them on their feet and moving, back to the hotel.

***

Adèle and Élise went home a couple of days later. I insisted on their allowing Kate and me to accompany them, in part to make up for my lamentably blasé treatment of Rachel's and Lucy's departure. When we arrived at the airport, the plane was sitting on the runway being refuelled, having just unloaded its passengers. A handful of stragglers were still entering the terminal, and I recognized the expressions on their faces.

It was amusing to watch the two French girls gingerly putting on their clothes after such a long time when no fabric had touched their skin. Élise cooed as the elastic of her panties snapped on her hips; Adèle pulled a funny face at the unfamiliar stiffness of the bra enclosing and restraining her breasts. As they crossed the tarmac, both looked back and waved. I knew that sooner or later they would be back. Adèle would insist on it, because I think her experience was even more profound than her lover's, perhaps more than Kate's. She discovered new things about herself and her relationship with Élise. For during her time on Syrena she had played mistress and yet could still share an intimacy with her girl; she could take on the role of dominant without compromising or dishonouring her own womanhood.

Back at our hotel, I looked about forlornly for Ted and Valerie. I did not fancy spending more time with Philip or Vader, although the charming presence of their women would have made the sacrifice worthwhile. Olivia seemed to have vanished, probably off working on some project. We spent the rest of the afternoon sightseeing and the evening at a bistro on the Boardwalk.

I decided that it was time to give Kate a little more independence, so I allowed her to go downstairs in the morning before I awoke. This became a habit, which concerned me, and my misgivings were confirmed when one day she hadn't returned on schedule and I went to find her. She was in the lobby with two new couples. Although there were vacant armchairs, the women were kneeling beside each other on the carpet; one had her hands bound behind her back and the other was helping her to sip a cocktail of some sort. Their partners were watching and listening as Kate, also kneeling, did most of the taking. I could tell from the men's self-satisfied expressions and the coy reactions of the females as I approached that they were freshly arrived.

Kate appeared to be giving out advice, just as Valerie had done on our first day. When she saw me, she introduced me as her master, which made me proud. I was less pleased that she was making new friends on her own; but I would look petty if I cut off her privileges now. Nevertheless, I was taken aback when, the following day, she told me we'd been invited to dinner by a friend of Olivia. It took me a moment to remember who that was, and I could not figure out when Kate got the invitation. She never told me.

Raylan and Caroline are husband and wife and, like Olivia, "guest workers", both civil engineers who had originally come to the island as part of a reconstruction team after one of the hurricanes two or three years ago. They have stayed on and live in a house by the bay. He is stocky and dark, with what one would describe as movie-star chiselled good looks; she is fair and slightly built, with perfect breasts, delicate features and pixie-cut straw-blonde hair. According to their story, when they signed on for the Syrena project they had no idea of the unique local customs. The revelation must have come as a shock, Kate said. Raylan grinned and Caroline giggled as they nodded in unison. They both showed a somewhat warped sense of humour, so I don't know whether to believe them.

We rendezvoused downtown. I noticed that while Caroline wore a collar, her man did not have her on a leash; but she didn't react to Kate's. Nevertheless, when he saw that Kate's hands were bound behind her, Raylan politely asked Caroline to about-turn and place her hands behind her back. She grimaced, but they both winked at us (they did a lot of things in this simultaneous manner), so perhaps this was another of their jokes.

When we reached their house, a small but comfortable bungalow perched on a small bluff overlooking Regatta Bay, it was late afternoon, a breeze was blowing steadily off the water and the women were feeling the chill. I had already dismissed the propaganda about year-round impeccable weather, and almost felt sorry for Caroline, and women like her, who have had to acclimatize without clothing. Of course, that's the price they willingly pay for living in paradise.

Raylan prepared dinner. He explained that his wife's cooking was toxic — the very word he used — and she slowly shook her head, not in disagreement but in sorrow. While he was in the kitchen, she entertained Kate and me with stories of her first weeks on the island. She showed us the safety vest she wears on the job, and I was gratified to have an earlier suspicion corroborated. The material was transparent.

After the meal (a simple but superb fare of bruschetta followed by a spicy chicken salad and finished off with some sort of sweet soup), we retired to the living room for, in Caroline's words, "fun and games." Kate's jaw dropped and her eyes bulged when the woman brought out a large carton filled with ropes, chains, sashes and all manner of toys. She tied her own blindfold in place, then lowered herself to a kneeling position, then bent forward, until her forehead touched the floor, and put her hands in front of her head with wrists crossed. Kate did the same. Then Caroline began wiggling her backside. She was moving her knees apart as Raylan crouched behind her, unzipping his trousers. As he thrust forward, she gasped and grunted. This unheralded, unself-conscious act in front of guests threw me off balance for a few seconds. Kate, who could not see what was happening but could hear Caroline's groaning, had begun to quiver; but she braced herself, knowing that out of courtesy to our hosts we should follow suit.

Before Caroline could recover her breath, Raylan ordered her into a completely prostrate position, face down, and began flogging her with a broad leather belt, on her back, bottom and thighs. She squealed and then moaned and then just whimpered; but when instructed to roll over onto her back she looked cheerful behind her blindfold. Raylan turned to me with an inquisitive frown, and pointed to the carton.

"In there's another belt," he said. "We always use the strap, never a whip or cane. There's less chance of scarring. And since it leaves fewer marks you can go on for much longer."

Caroline managed a weak smile with clenched teeth as the leather fell repeatedly across her breasts and belly and pelvis. Kate, I am proud to say, never uttered more than a few feeble sounds during her ordeal. When it was over, I untied the sash and wiped tears from her eyes, sweat from her cheeks and spittle from her lips. She was never more gorgeous.

We played more games that evening. On our way home, around midnight, I thought Kate might be too exhausted to walk all the way, but wondered if she would be able to sit if we hired a taxi. She laughed.

"I'm tougher than you give me credit for."

"I have no doubt of that."

"Tougher than you," she called back over her shoulder as she strode ahead, drawing out her leash to its full extent.

I didn't stop moving but tugged on her tether to pull her back to my side.

"Tough girl, eh?" I snarled. "We'll see."

"I have no doubt of that," she answered with a smirk.

***

There were other adventures, more people to meet. Kate, to my disquiet, seemed intoxicated by the sea air and tropical heat, showed increasing impertinence and had to be punished more than a few times. I forbade her to go out onto the balcony of our suite (which she naturally ignored), and never let her out of my sight again. But I really couldn't blame her. Despite all her experiences and my guidance, she still had much to learn. Three weeks may not have been enough for her complete transformation, but any more time might have been too much. So I wasn't sure if we would ever return to Syrena.

My last day's memory was, unfortunately, an especially negative one. On the homebound flight we suffered several unconscionable delays. By the time we arrived at our house, I was in an ugly frame of mind. Kate was laughing and bouncy... much too effervescent for my present temper.

"Why are you in such a good mood?" I barked.

"It's lovely to be home again," she said as, in the middle of the living room, she stripped off her dress and undies.

"What are you doing?" I exclaimed. "We haven't even unpacked."

She knelt beside our second suitcase, opened it and took out the ropes, the gags, the blindfolds, the leg-spreader and her leather-and-rings harness, the straps and whips and clamps, and lay them out in neat little rows on the carpet.

"Done," she said.

"Good grief," I growled. "What's gotten into you?"

She smiled.

THE END